


Scratch My Back and Rule Me

by likebrightness



Series: What's Your Fantasy ficathon [1]
Category: Avengers, Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, What's Your Fantasy ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <em>Steve doesn’t mean to sleep with Natasha.</em> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch My Back and Rule Me

Steve doesn’t mean to sleep with Natasha. Well, he does, of course, that kind of thing doesn’t happen by accident, but he doesn’t mean to keep doing it. The first time could probably be called comfort sex, for him. He’s not sure why she did it, thought he’d be laughed at if he asked. It was supposed to just be a one time thing, anyway. 

Except then it was…

Words fall a little flat, trying to describe it, actually. To say it was great sex, fantastic sex, really doesn’t capture the extent of it, the way it affected him  _everywhere_ . The way it felt like they stopped time.

After that, there wasn’t a chance in hell they weren’t doing it again.

Part of him feels good about the whole thing—she’s the only woman he’s sleeping with, and he likes that, wouldn’t want to be running around with more than one. But part of him doesn’t—it’s sex, not a relationship, not a romantic relationship, at least, and that makes him a little uncomfortable. To be fair, it’s the only type of sex he knows—the chorus girls didn’t see him as a boyfriend so much as they saw him as something to accomplish. There’s just a part of him that thinks about courting a woman, about dinners and dates. About finding the right dance partner.

But he’s trying to adjust to this new life, and that might be something he has to let go of, at least for a while. And when he’s with Natasha? The part of him that doesn’t like the situation magically disappears.

She’s  _funny_ , for one. Has a sort of sick sense of humor that makes him wonder what Bucky would’ve thought of her, if he’d had the chance to meet her. He thinks they’d have probably gotten along too well.

Every few months she decides she wants to try to get him drunk. The only time it came close to working, she just handed him a large bottle of some kind of booze and said, “Chug this.” He did. She shoved him back onto the bed when he was done, and to this day he’s not sure if he was tipsy or she just made his head spin more than usual that night.

She hasn’t given him alcohol since. Sometimes when he sees her, his throat goes dry and he thinks about finding the nearest liquor store. He never much cared for drinking before; he wouldn’t put it past her to have planned it that way.

What sets Natasha apart, besides the obvious—frighteningly talented spy and assassin—is that she can handle him; he’s not afraid of breaking her. He  _was_ , that first time, movements slow and almost gentle as she bucked beneath him. Eventually she flipped him over without using her hands at all—he’s still not sure how she managed it—and said, “Christ, Steve, s’that what they taught you in the forties?” It turned into a competition then, though he’s certain neither of them lost. 

They wreck each other. Every time. Afterward, they’re quiet, mostly because it takes too much focus to get air into their lungs to talk. When their heart rates normalize again, they compare battle scars. Steve tends to leave bruises around her hips, hanging on a little too tight. Depending on the day, Natasha will cover him in hickeys or bites or crescent bruises from her fingernails. Each time she shows him a new mark, he apologizes, sheepishly. Every time he shows her one, she says nothing, smirking rather proudly. At least she doesn’t draw blood.

Usually.

After one night Steve had to lie on his stomach until the lines, complete from his neck to his ass, clotted. Natasha filled ziploc bags—which are a pretty fantastic invention, Steve thinks—with ice for him, even though he claimed it didn’t hurt much. Of course that just turned into him stealing a couple ice cubes and rolling them around on her nipples and clit. He ended up with more scratches than he started with.

-

For his birthday, she lets him take her out to dinner. He teases her that her present involves him paying for the meal, and shouldn’t it be the other way around? She doesn’t even bother rolling her eyes, but he knows he’s not fooling her. Later, in her bedroom, she tells him to go slowly. She doesn’t break eye contact until she comes. They don’t cuddle afterward, not exactly, but she lies a little closer to him than usual, stays still a little longer. 

“’Tasha,” he says a while later, as she’s returning to bed with a glass of water. “That was really nice, but…well…”

Her grin is wicked. “Oh, thank fuck,” she says, and climbs on top of him.

Tony declares his birthday a success when he can’t even walk right the next day.


End file.
